The way his eyes search for me in a room full of noise

feels like being chosen by something holy.

His touch—not gentle, but reverent—

like he’s afraid I might vanish

if he holds on too tight & when he pulls me in,

it don’t feel like drowning.

feels like resurrection.

Like the sea finally called me son

& meant it. I am all ash & aftershock.

Still—he studies me like scripture.

To him, I am lapis lazuli—

fractured, yes, but gleaming blue.

So this is what yearning feels like—

Not ache, but altar & for him,

I want to become the softest place on Earth.

Let him weep in the hollow of my thigh

be both psalm & promise—

I said I’d never love a poet—

but here I carve a kingdom from my ribcage

just to make room for his name.